A short story
By John David Hanna
Copyright John David Hanna 2012
This book is rated PG, maybe R is you are opposed to sexual content.
Estelle ignored him as she moved across the room to admire the hang of her clothing in the full length mirror in the corner. He stood there trying to normalize relations. 'She always starts a fight before we go out' he told himself. Maybe it was true, what is said about some women, start a fight and when you go out you are more available to the flirtations of other men.
As his anger built he imagined she noticed every nuance of his behavior. They were just going to the usual block party nearby. The same people would be there and nothing new was expected. He went over what he had done to upset her but couldn't put a finger on his transgression. It seemed her irritation had grown during the day – dissatisfaction with his every move.
He had tracked dirt inside the house early in the day. He maintained several hundred chickens and delighted in feeding them scraps early in the morning. The brisk Argentinian air didn't vary and there were few days of the year where the grass was frozen in the morning or where the temperature topped one hundred degrees with high humidity. There was early dew this time of year and his best efforts didn't prevent a smear of dirt from dislodging to the flooring as if dirt was a live thing that needed a floor.
'You're best efforts suck' she had told him time and again concerning the daily dirt trail, among other habits.
'I live here too' he had tried to counter but that argument never registered with her and only seemed to cast him further into contempt.
Jack fumed silently. He had been ready to leave ten minutes earlier which was the cue for his wife to begin her own preparations – or it appeared that way to him. She looked great, as usual. Nowhere was there a woman that matched Estelle's beauty. She was geared to him, almost genetically attached it seemed. Her olive complexion seemed to beg for caresses. Her green specked brown eyes possessed a living, twitchingly bright path him into her deep and mysterious - and loving - complexities when she was in the mood. She could enamor him as no other.
Not that he hadn't compared her beauty to others in the hundreds of years of their marriage.
This morning he had visited the roosters which were kept further out to prevent their racket from annoying him on mornings when he would tarry in the bed and open the house to the natural cool breeze. The cages weren't visible unless Jack wanted to see the internal workings and in that case he would connect to the local AI and request a search.
The half dozen roosters were genetically unaltered yet were naturally resplendent in their plumage and struts. Even at this distance their simple crow would send the hens into a laying frenzy and every call would distract them from their attentive digs and searches for a juicy worm or fruited treat. The roosters were 'caged' in a depression, vaguely circular, with thatched living shelters and roosts.